


Nieważny

by Zethsaire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Bloodplay, Dark, Dark Derek, Dark Magic, Dark Stiles, Everyone is Dead, Except Stiles and Derek, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 19:15:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4973044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zethsaire/pseuds/Zethsaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The pack is gone, everything they've ever cared for destroyed.  Now Stiles and Derek hunt the hunters, taking revenge in the only way they know how; blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nieważny

**Author's Note:**

  * For [f0x-meets-w0lf](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=f0x-meets-w0lf).



> This is based on f0x-meets-w0lf's amazing series of pics found [here](http://f0x-meets-w0lf.tumblr.com/post/127834569734/the-more-you-take-the-more-you-need-the-more). It has a sort of...mafia feel to it, but I didn't go quite that direction.
> 
> Heed the tags! This is a pretty dark, bloody fic. Neither Stiles or Derek are in a happy place. At least they have each other?

“Sure, the local pack hired us, but I would have done this for _free_ ,” Stiles snarled, and he was beautiful.

“Hunters are a disease,” he continued, voice dark and menacing, “You don't protect humans. You protect yourselves. You walk into a situation you don't understand and you murder everyone, because it's  _safer_ that way. And not just the wolves. Oh no. You kill their families, their friends. You're animals.”

“Someone has to stop the monsters-”

“You  _are_ the monsters!” Stiles gestured, and the woman who'd spoken flew through the air to collide sickeningly with the concrete wall of the warehouse basement.

“But you're a druid! You're supposed to maintain the balance!”

Stiles laughed then. “I'm not a druid. I'm a witch.”

Their faces were stunned, just as they always were. No one believed in the power Stiles could wield, until it was used on them. “People really want magic to have a limit, but it doesn't. There's something to be said for innate ability and studying, and nothing beats a good grimoire, but really it's all about will and imagination. And I have plenty of both.”

When Stiles gave the signal, Derek attacked.

He hardly ever used his fangs or claws any more. He used his feet and his fists, and the pair of gold-plated titanium-based knuckledusters Stiles had given him last Christmas to replaces his battered iron ones. He broke skin and bones, knocked out teeth and pulled out hair, but he didn't kill them. Stiles did that.

The first few went down easy, mostly young, stunned, stupid. The older hunters were more wary, had time to get out their guns and their bows, to fire arrows at him or wolfsbane bullets. He dodged the arrows, though one sliced through his cheek with the mild burn he associated with silver. The bullets bounced off him.

“Do you  _really_ think I'd keep an attack dog and then let you kill him that easily? Please.”

Someone tried futilely to throw up a mountain ash barrier, and Stiles scattered it with a glare. “You can't stop  _me._ ”

Stiles joined the fray then, paralyzing, incapacitating, bringing hunters to their knees with magic, and then swinging his studded metal bat at their heads until their skulls exploded like rotten melons, blood and hair and gray matter spraying everywhere. He didn't stop until every last one was dead.

“There should be six kids. One was a teen and apparently already in the family business,” Stiles gestured to a corpse wearing what had probably been fashionable leggings and a purple tunic. “Find the rest.”

Derek took a few minutes to wash up, at least wiping off the worst of the gore so he wouldn't be arrested the moment he went outside, and set to tracking. Stiles simply waved his hand across himself, and the gore sloughed off him.

“Are they in the building?”

Derek held up one finger and took the lift to the main floor of the warehouse. Stiles followed. He sniffed, he listened. He touched the tattoo on his neck that would break through mountain ash barriers and most sound or scent blocking spells and said, “no.”

“Find them. I'm going to burn it.”

It usually went this way. Stiles knew that Derek hated fire, so he would send Derek to look for any survivors, or to break in and take everything of value from their houses, or any other chore to get him out of the way while Stiles dealt with the bodies. He always burned them. Usually it was written off as a gang/mafia hit or some kind of tragic accident. When it was investigated as a murder, the investigation would always fizzle out after a few weeks. Stiles protected them.

He always protected them, no matter what that meant. Whatever he had to do, whoever he had to kill, Stiles would keep them safe. It was the only thing that kept Derek sane.

The children were all together, which made things easier, but they had a babysitter, which made things more difficult. Derek killed her, because there was no way to know that she wasn't a hunter herself. He made it a quick, clean death, in case she was innocent. Derek protected them, too.

Stiles took care of the children. He took them aside one by one and talked to them. Just talked. Sometimes he'd take them into a room and they wouldn't come out, and Stiles would never tell Derek exactly what happened, but he knew.

Other times, they'd come back out with a sort of dazed expression, and they'd forget everyone and everything that had happened before they met Stiles, including meeting him, but they would be spared. Stiles usually did less clean up for those kinds of investigations. It was usually chalked up to trauma based amnesia, and if the child never got their memory back, no one really seemed surprised. Of these particular children, all but the oldest came back out, dazed, and sat down on the floor while Stiles called 911 as a concerned neighbor who'd heard a disturbance.

“Let's go,” he said after putting the phone down. As they left, the door shut of its own accord, the lock breaking and a window shattering as if forced open, and all traces of Stiles' and Derek's presence were obliterated.

“I tried to save him. Really, I did.” Stiles didn't clarify, but Derek knew he meant the oldest child.

“They'd already corrupted him.”

That meant Stiles would be getting drunk while Derek collected their pay. It wasn't really the way things were done. Stiles was, for all intents and purposes, his alpha, which meant he should be talking to the other pack. But anyone who hired them knew they didn't really do things the proper way. They provided a service where they disposed of problems no one else in the supernatural community was willing or able to do. They didn't play by the rules, and they always, always completed their tasks. The one time the aggressor in a pack war had hired them, Stiles had killed them all in their sleep and then robbed them blind. Word got around, and they hadn't had a situation like that since.

So Derek followed him back to their motel room, helped Stiles dress his few wounds. Only a gouge in his upper right arm was in need of any kind of bandage and Stiles wrapped a clean yellow strip of cloth around it because he wouldn't know subtlety if it bit him in the ass. Then Derek joined him in the shower and they slowly made out before Derek sunk to his knees and gave Stiles head until he came down Derek's throat.

Stiles stumbled out of the shower after that, and by the time Derek cleaned the blood from his nails and dried off, Stiles was already drunk. He was on the bed in loose sleep pants and his unzipped red hoodie and if Derek didn't need to go get their pay, he would have fucked him.

Priorities first. Stiles was very firm about getting paid as soon as a job was done, which meant Derek got dressed and went to the pack house immediately. News traveled fast – the alpha and the remaining pack members were waiting for him, and they thanked him, the alpha handing him an envelope full of cash.

It was only a few thousand dollars in non-sequential bills, far less than a regular assassin would ask for even a single target, much less and entire clan of hunters. Stiles didn't do it for the money. After raiding Derek's family vault and subsequent investments, they had more money than they could spend even with the exorbitant amount Stiles spent on spell ingredients. The fee they charged generally covered the cost of the motel, any supplies used, and Stiles' alcohol bill. They'd tried not charging at all at first, but that seemed to make people think they weren't professionals, or appeared too much like charity for proud packs to swallow. So Stiles charged them. Their clients felt they'd paid for a service, their expenses were paid for, Stiles got to kill people, and there were less hunters in the world. It was a perfect arrangement, unless there were kids involved.

Derek suspected he'd lost the last shred of morality he'd possessed when his pack had been murdered for the third time. He knew it should bother him that they had eliminated children today, but he just couldn't bring himself to care. Let those children grow up and it would be Kate all over again. Everything was pain, except Stiles.

Derek suspected he wouldn't outlive Stiles by very long.

He returned to the motel, stopping to pay their bill on the way. Stiles was laying on the bed with an empty bottle of jack on the nightstand and a glassy, lazy look in his eyes.

“Hey babe. You're back.”

“You're drunk.”

A feral grin spread across Stiles' face. “A little. Why don't you get undressed and come over here?”

Derek didn't reply, just took off his clothes swiftly and silently and crawled up onto the bed, covering Stiles' body with his own. Stiles chuckled darkly and ran his hands through Derek's thick hair.

“Kiss me.”

Derek did, licking and biting his way up Stiles neck, scratching his scruff across Stiles' neck deliberately, because they both enjoyed the way Stiles' neck blossomed red as a result. Stiles yanked Derek's head around so he could mash their mouths together. Derek opened his jaw and let Stiles ravage him. Stiles liked Derek to physically dominate him; he liked Derek's weight on him. Derek liked letting Stiles manhandle him, letting Stiles use his body however he wanted to.

“Mark me up real good baby. I want to feel it in the morning.”

This, Derek liked very much. He let his claws out and dug them into Stiles' hips. Stiles let out a moan of pain and grinned. Derek burrowed his face in Stiles neck and bit and licked and sucked at Stiles neck and collarbones until he was a mass of bruises.

Then Derek ripped off Stiles' hoodie, first pausing to lick the blood from Stiles' wounds. He'd been careful, they weren't deep, just enough to bleed a bit and make Stiles ache like he wanted but he was sure to clean them out with his tongue regardless.

“Alright, alright, it's clean,” Stiles griped, so Derek bit him on the hip. Stiles yelped, which deepened into another moan. Stiles tugged Derek's hair, and Derek obliged him by nuzzling into Stiles' crotch.

Stiles unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down his legs. “Don't you dare rip them, they're my favorite,” he said, like he couldn't just fix them after.

But Derek obliged, and let Stiles kick off his jeans before resuming nuzzling into Stiles' rapidly growing erection. Stiles wasn't wearing any underwear, as usual.

“Oh yeah babe.” Stiles grabbed his hair again and yanked it hard, forcing Derek down on his cock.

Derek choked, which made Stiles chuckle, and grip his hair tightly for a moment before letting it go.

“Suck.”

So Derek did, using everything he'd learned in the last five years as Stiles lover to bring him satisfaction. Stiles liked it rough, he liked to fuck Derek's throat, and he liked being kept waiting. The longer Derek could drag it out the better.

Derek managed to drag it out for half an hour; a personal best.

“Good,” Stiles murmured, his hand stroking across Derek's hair and shoulder. His hand tightened, and he tugged Derek up to lay beside him.

He was languid and happy now, smiling at Derek and no longer digging his fingers into Derek's skin. His kisses were warm and soft, and Derek bared his throat and let tiles lick and kiss along his prominent vein in an ultimate show of surrender. Derek was Stiles' to do with as he pleased, and Stiles knew it.

What currently pleased Stiles was pleasuring Derek with his strong hands until Derek came all over both of them, and then he pulled Derek close, like Derek had all the answers for everything that was wrong. Derek didn't, but that was alright.

They were all each other had, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> "Nieważny" can mean Void in Polish, if anyone's curious. 
> 
> Comments give me life!


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